. It was a man named Murrell and another
man named Slosson. They tried fo' to murder me--they wanted to get my
nevvy--I 'low they done it!" and Yancy groaned again.

"You'll get him back," said Polly soothingly.

"Could you-all put me asho'?" inquired Yancy, with sudden eagerness.

"We could, but we won't," said Cavendish, in no uncertain tone.

"Why, la!--you'd perish!" exclaimed Polly.

"Are we far from where you-all picked me up?"

Cavendish nodded. He did not like to tell Yancy the distance they had
traversed.

"Where are you-all taking me?" asked Yancy.

"Well, stranger, that's a question I can't answer offhand. The Tennessee
are a twister; mebby it will be Kentucky; mebby it will be Illinoy, and
mebby it will be down yonder on the Mississippi. My tribe like this way
of moving about, and it certainly favors a body's legs."

"How old was your nevvy?" inquired Polly, reading the troubled look in
Yancy's gray eyes.

"Ten or thereabouts, ma'am. He were a heap of comfort to me," and the
whisper on Yancy's lips was wonderfully tender and wistful.

"Just the age of my Richard," said Polly, her glance full of compassion
and pity.

Mr. Cavendish essayed to speak, but was forced to pause and clear his
throat. The allusion to Richard in this connection having been almost
more than he could endure with equanimity. When he was able to put his
thoughts into words, he said:

"I shore am distressed fo' you. I tried to leave you back yonder where
I found you, but no one knowed you and you looked so near dead folks
wouldn't have it. What parts do you come from?"

"No'th Carolina. Me and my nevvy was a-goin' into west Tennessee to
a place called Belle Plain, somewhere near Memphis. We have friends
there," explained Yancy.

"That settles it!" cried Cavendish. "It won't be Kentucky, and it won't
be Illinoy; I'll put you asho' at Memphis; mebby you'll find yo' nevvy
there after all."

"That's the best. You lay still and get yo' strength back as fast as
you can, and try not to worry--do now." Polly's voice was soft and
wheedling.

"I reckon I been a heap of bother to you-all," said Yancy.

"La, no," Polly assured him; "you ain't been."

And now the six little Cavendishes appeared on the scene. The pore
gentleman had come to--sho! He had got his senses back--sho! he wa'n't
goin' to die after all; he could talk. Sho! a body could hear him plain!
Excited beyond measure they scurried about in their fluttering rags of